


Sweet Rice

by sweetshootingstars



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, husband!samu, they love pancakes, you have twins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:41:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27763177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetshootingstars/pseuds/sweetshootingstars
Summary: There is nothing you love more than your kids, Sunday mornings, and your husband's tummy.
Relationships: Miya Osamu & Reader, Miya Osamu/Reader
Comments: 11
Kudos: 107





	Sweet Rice

**Author's Note:**

> I live for domestic!Samu. please marry me, samu. 
> 
> possible warnings: osamu getting handsy, talk of bodies and body shapes and natural body features.

Sundays were a treat in the Miya household.

Sundays meant sleeping in (to 9AM, at least), and big breakfasts. Sundays meant waking to the sun on your face, the soft snores of Osamu and occasionally one (or both!) of your twins, limbs tangled together, the soft fabric of their patterned pajamas nestled into your skin. 

This morning the twins were nowhere to be found- and had they been awake they would have made their presence known by bounding into the master bedroom, so you assumed that they were still asleep. On Sunday mornings, you recall that they typically liked to dogpile onto Osamu, in hopes that in the haze of sleep he would begrudgingly agree to make them pancakes for breakfast. 

Feeling your body awaken, you turn your eyes to your sleeping husband. He was somewhat successful at kicking off the covers last night, the comforter tangled in his legs. Your eyes rove appreciatively over the expanse of his chest- the muscles of his upper body, the soft dark hair on his belly that continued down into his sweats, the mole on his side. You really, really lucked out.

But what caught your eyes the most was the soft curve of his stomach.

Amidst your sleepy stupor you snuggle closer to Osamu, nuzzling your nose into his collarbones. His body reacts even while he is asleep, his arm making its way underneath and around your body to pull you closer by reflex. With this newfound access, your hand softly and slowly makes its way to his tummy. 

The both of you were no longer the lithe teenagers that you were over twenty years ago, but as your bodies changed and grew you found yourself more and more in love. You were endlessly thankful for the strength and vitality of Osamu's body- the body that allowed him to go to work everyday, the body that allowed him to be the father of your two children, this body that curled you to him as if it was second nature. Your fingers draw circles into the soft fat of his stomach, and your smile grows. 

You think of your own body- the stretchmarks, the wrinkles, the rolls of fat that came with age and with motherhood. But you imagine- no, you _know_ \- that Osamu appreciates your form the same way you do his. You love every wrinkle of his, every gray hair. 

You don't miss the sleepy mornings when his hand drifts over every part of your body that teenaged-[Y/N] would have shied away from- your lower stomach, your hips, your back, your upper arms. You recall feeling feather-light kisses on the fading vertical line down your abdomen, a memory of the effort it took to bring your two children into the world. He holds you the same way that he did when you both were seventeen- as if you were the most precious thing.  


You love Osamu's rounded stomach. He eats well, he lives and works, he loves, and he is everything you ever wanted. Even if he were to become bigger or smaller, ribs poking through his skin or his sides spilling out of his shirts, you would still love him the same.

"Morning, baby."

A gruff voice sounds from above you. Osamu stirs, turning onto his side to pull you into his chest with both arms. "Y'know I'm ticklish there."

You giggle softly, bumping noses with him. "I know, that's why I did it."

"…Yer chipper this morning."

"The kids haven't attacked you yet, I'd say that's a cause for celebration."

"Shhh, don't jinx it."

Silence follows, until he groans softly into your hair, pulling you to him even tighter. Your hand moves to his side, squeezing his hip. 

"'Samu," you call softly, pressing your lips to the hollow of his neck, "We're turning thirty-seven this year." 

He hmm's in response, pressing his cheek to the top of your head. You pause, letting the words in your brain slowly settle into sentences, the morning fog only just clearing in your mind. But when it does, an impish thought jumps past the tip of your tongue.

"Do you still think I'm sexy?"

His eyes open lazily, and he pulls away to look at you. You burst into peals of quiet laughter at his expression- it reminds you of the face he makes when Atsumu tries to rope him into some dumb idea of his. 

"What!" you sputter, a mischievous smile still gracing your features. Osamu scoffs, before burying his face into your neck and pulling you into a tight embrace. He squeezes you so hard that you squeal. 

"I'm not gonna answer you. Stupid." Your laughter is louder now, and you press a loud kiss to his hairline. Amidst your giggles, you feel his hand slowly move from your lower back to your behind, giving it an appreciative squeeze. You yelp at the sensation, Osamu chuckling into your neck. 

"…Your ass is still a fuckin' ten babe, I think that tells you all you need to know."

He moves his hand back up your sides, before settling it on your upper back. You mindlessly play with his hair, threading your fingers through the soft tufts of black and gray. You feel his lashes brush your skin. A few moments pass, before you feel the deep rumble of his voice on your collarbone.

"…Y'know I always think yer beautiful. Have I not been telling ya enough times?" His voice becomes softer as he speaks, more tender. Your heart stirs.

"No, you do 'Samu." 

"Even when we're both seventy I'll still think yer a dime." Osamu kisses up your neck. "There's nothing that'll change that for me."

He cranes his head up to meet your lips in a chaste kiss, and you feel his thumb press soft circles into the fat of your lower belly. His fingers stroke over the ups and downs of your stomach with care, and you feel a bloom of joy start in pits of your lungs, moving up and out, into every corner of your body. 

You don't realize how much time passes, but his kisses become deeper, and a hand reaches down to press into your behind once again. You gasp into his mouth, allowing his tongue access. Your hands feebly settle onto his upper arms, squeezing into the firm muscle. 

A coil of heat begins to tighten in your abdomen, as Osamu's hands travel across your body. Every touch, every squeeze, every tug on your bottom lip with his teeth sets your skin on fire. Even after twenty years of being together, even after the ageing and changing and growing of your bodies, nothing will ever turn your insides into molten lava quite like the way Osamu touches you. 

"'S-Samu…" you breathe, whimpering from the growing intensity of his kisses. His mouth latches onto the skin of your neck and applies pressure at just the right spot- you feel yourself keening into his hold. 

"Whaddya say, baby?" He drawls in between kisses, "Just be quiet so the kiddos don't-"

"Daddy!" 

A shrill yell snaps you both out of your arduous haze, and Osamu abruptly halts his ministrations just in time for your bedroom door to swing open. In the doorway, you two are greeted by the mischievous faces of your twins, Osamu's little carbon copies, standing triumphantly. Their grins are so wide; you can't help but think that they look like a pair of little plotting foxes. 

"Lets make pancakes!" Your son exclaims, a tooth missing from his smile. Your daughter adds a quieter "pretty please", but you know that her intentions are just as conniving as her brother's. Before you both can answer, they leap onto your bed, and immediately snuggle in between you and Osamu. Your daughter gets to work, pouncing onto Osamu's chest and barraging him with tickles, while your son hugs your midsection. 

"Alright! Alright!" Osamu acquiesces between bouts of laughter, "Ease up, princess. Okay. Okay. Pancakes." As soon as she stops, he lunges forward and grabs her, holding her impossibly tight. She squeals happily as he squeezes her. Pressing a kiss to your son's hair, you slowly rise from the bed. You make eye contact with Osamu, reaching out to pinch your daughter's cheek. 

"Go get the ingredients out, you two. Mommy and Daddy will brush our teeth first." 

The twins chirp an 'okay!' back to you in unison, before leaping off the bed as quickly as they came. You hear the padding of their feet in the hallway, and the soft thumps as they descend the stairs. Feeling Osamu's eyes on you, you turn to look at him. His smile is lazy, but his eyes are filled with mirth. 

"Let's not keep them waiting." 

Osamu presses a quick kiss to your stomach, before getting up. You both stretch, he opens the blinds, and the Miya family begins their Sunday.

Sundays were always a treat, Miya [Y/N] thinks. Every Sunday, she is reminded of how loved she is, and how much she loves her family. She is grateful for her husband, she is grateful for her children, and she is grateful for her body- the body that wakes up every day to bring her many more mornings with her family. She is grateful for pancakes, for growing old, for her husband still finding her sexy at seventy, and for their home. She's grateful for Sundays, for food on the table, and for Osamu. Again, and again. 

You can't wait to eat.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been thinking a lot of getting older, and loving someone through it all. I'm getting closer to thirty, and the idea of someone loving you in all of your beautiful glory is a comforting feeling. I've only recently learned to be thankful for my body and all it does for me, and I hope you can feel gratitude for yourself too someday. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! I am also on tumblr, @sweetshootingstars. :)


End file.
